SOAR
SOAR
by Molly Jo Realy @RealMojo68
SOAR
And Frankly, My Dear . . . That’s all she wrote!
Rain.
Smell
that dusts worries
away.
Wet
that refreshes
my soul.
Plops
that look like
pawprints
on my windows.
Splats
that drum
a happy tune.
Sensory Overload.
I love
Rain.
And Frankly, My Dear… that’s all she wrote!
From Beth
My dear friend Beth sent me this poem in an email last night. She has no idea of the kind of week I’ve just been through… so all I can say is
THANK YOU.
~
[Jelaluddin Rumi, in Delicious Laughter, translated by Coleman Barks]
A dragon was pulling a bear into its terrible mouth.
A courageous man went and rescued the bear.
There are such helpers in the world, who rush to save
anyone who cries out. Like Mercy itself,
they run toward the screaming.
And they can’t be bought off.
If you were to ask one of those, “Why did you come
so quickly?” He or she would say, “Because I heard
your helplessness.”
Where lowland is,
that’s where water goes. All medicine wants
is pain to cure.
And don’t just ask for one mercy.
Let them flood in. Let the sky open under your feet.
Take the cotton out of your ears, the cotton
of consolations, so you can hear the sphere-music. . . .
Give your weakness
to One Who Helps.
Crying out loud and weeping are great resources.
A nursing mother, all she does
is wait to hear her child.
Just a little beginning-whimper,
and she’s there.
God created the child, that is, your wanting,
so that it might cry out, so that milk might come.
Cry out! Don’t be stolid and silent
with your pain. Lament! And let the milk
of Loving flow into you.
The hard rain and wind
are ways the cloud has
to take care of us.
Be patient.
Respond to every call
that excites your spirit.
Ignore those that make you fearful
and sad, that degrade you
back toward disease and death.
~
I love this poem. I’d never heard of Rumi until last night. I googled the copyrights to make sure I could post, and Rumi and Barks are so intent on sharing his gift of poetry that the caviat is only to cite them as the source and author/translator of this wonderful poem.
Astounding.
And Frankly, My Dear… that’s all she wrote!
NaBloPoMo Prompt: POEM
Today’s prompt from BlogHer.com is “Which poet do you wish was also a blogger?”
I’d have to say… I’m not sure. Because I don’t read tons of poetry, so I’m not well-versed (pardon the pun) with poetic artists.
But I keep thinking of one. A man who’s writing style is so glorious, so creative, so inclusive and amazing that if he were a daily blogger, I’m pretty sure I’d be speaking in rhyme far more often than I do.
I am, of course, talking about non other than Theodor Geisel; better known as Dr. Seuss.
Can you imagine the possibilities that man could offer on topics like cooking in a plastic bag, or the political climate under the ant hill, or even nine ways to wink at a cat? It’s endless, I tell you! Positively endless!
If it were up to you, what topics would you like Dr. Seuss to blog about? If not Dr. Seuss, then who?
And Franky, My Dear… that’s all she wrote!
NaBloPoMo for April 2: What Was the First Poem You Ever Memorized?
That’s a tough question. A very tough question. Because I’m pretty sure before I learned to talk, I learned poetry. My mom was, and still is, an avid reader. She read to me since birth. As I’ve often blogged about her, she’s instilled my love of words. I’m fairly certain that I recognized poetry and prose long before I “knew” anything about them.
I can’t be sure that I correctly recall the first poem I ever memorized, but The Itsy Bitsy Spider comes to mind. That, and perhaps any rhyme from Winnie the Pooh.
And Dr. Seuss. Dr. Seuss rocks! I grew up on The Cat in the Hat, and loved loved LOVED when Mom would read to us from The Cat in the Hat’s Dictionary.
Once on a weekend afternoon, Mom was busy in the kitchen (another love she shared with me!), so my brother and I asked Dad to read to us from the Dictionary.
Poor Dad! He gave up after five minutes, because my brother and I kept telling him, “Make the voices like Mom does,” “That’s not how Mom reads it,” and “You’re doing it wrong.” I can see the frustration on his face. He tried, he really did; but a deep man’s voice can’t compete with a soft mother’s inflections when it comes to the imagination of two young children.
And while I still can’t be sure what the first poem I memorized was, this prompt certainly brought back fond family memories.
And Frankly, My Dear… that’s all she wrote!
Buy NOLA, a romantic location mystery, by Molly Jo Realy
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